Mending Bridges
by StrawberryCreamSoda
Summary: Cedric is tired of being the butt of everyone's joke. Baileywick realizes that he's been making Cedric upset. Sofia overhears things and tries to help, like always. Wormwood gets snacks. (Everything totally platonic all around, tons of hurt and a bunch of comfort.)


It wasn't even Baileywick's fault.

Well it was, of course it was very much his fault, but if Cedric hadn't just spent the day toiling over one of the most complicated potions he'd ever had to concoct, on top of figuring out a new spell to finally change the gargoyles into golden horses, maybe it wouldn't have turned out the way it did. Maybe Cedric wouldn't have reacted how he had. Maybe he'd have just walked off instead of having a messy emotional moment in front of someone who probably added it to his list of verbal ammunition.

Starting over. Cedric had begun the day ready to tackle a brand new- well, archaic and old, dusty tome full of fascinating potions he'd only read about in passing here and there, procured at great personal expense. He'd found a potion that was meant to imbue the drinker with shapeshifting ability, which sounded like it would have plenty of practical applications, and fortunately all the ingredients were currently in his possession. Even the very rare snarshop's mane hair, which wasn't easily found.

Even better, aside from the golden horses spell, which was entirely his own idea and basically only an item on his list of things to do because he still very desperately wanted to prove that he could do it, Cedric had no real requests on his time.

Granted, he didn't usually, and only had started to after his successful magic show for KIng Magnus, but it was still something to be pleased about nonetheless. All in all, he was just about ready to tolerate the new day.

Until, after five hours of tinkering with tubes and vials, painstakingly measuring out ingredients, and occasionally and with an air of wild desperation, substituting ingredients with other things, like moonstone dust and powdered firebeetle eyes, Cedric finally gave out. Five hours of exhausting potion brewing and all he'd managed were upwards of five separate explosions, one of which had left his hair still dusted with a fine sheen of glimmering powder that had made Princess Sofia squeak something excitedly at him when she intruded halfway through the process. Ugh. Suffice to say he had not been in the mood for her compliments. Another explosion had filled the room with bouncy balls, and another had simply turned everything a garish red, including himself.

If that hadn't been bad enough, Baileywick had finally arrived to tell him to quiet down, as usual, and had made some kind of low-key sarcastic remark about him redecorating the room. Undoubtedly the story of yet another of his failures would be circulating through the castle as he sat there.

"Oh, Wormy," he sighed, "One would hope that luck would be on my side just once this year, if only for something so inconsequential as brewing this stupid potion." The bird cawed in response, which was more than likely an agreement. It should have been, anyway.

He looked at his work station with a sense of despair. Rubber balls of every shape and size were scattered around the test tubes, some of the vials and pipes were smoking, everything was covered in a thin coat of powder-fine shimmering dust, and what was left of the potion wasn't even the correct color, at least if the book was to be believed at this point.

Cedric couldn't really face cleaning up at this point, he felt too exhausted. And to be honest, too demoralized to really do anything. It always was frustrating to have to keep trying these experiments over and over, with no real luck for days. And it led to the horrible, gnawing thoughts that he would never be as good as his father, that people were right about him all along, that he should have quit long ago, sorcerer's secret or not.

Brushing away those thoughts, he stood up and stretched a little, for the first time becoming aware that he was hungry. About time for a break, anyway. He'd just stop by the kitchens and tell one of the cooks to prepare something for him, or just nab some food himself if they were all too busy. Magically concocting a meal out of the raw supplies was easy enough for anyone, even him.

A quick spell turned him and his hair back to normal, removing the traces of magical staining and glitter, and he made his way to the food with half a mind of getting the ingredients for a fluttering flapjack.

* * *

He noticed, of course, that there was an unusual amount of sound coming from the kitchens. However, as there was usually a ton of noise coming from them, he didn't think twice. Well, except for his usual bitter thought that the kitchen staff were allowed to make as much noise as they wanted, clattering pots and pans and talking loudly to one another all the while. It wasn't as though his explosions were, well, consistently loud. Yet more proof that the universe was unfair and against him.

It was only when he drew nearer that he started to hear the...topic... of the chatter rising from the kitchens. At first, he could only tell that there was a great deal of fast-paced commentary, peppered with laughter. Cedric hoped they weren't doing something celebratory that he'd be forced to participate in, if only because someone wanted a magical confetti bomb. But then he drew even closer, near enough to start hearing words.

"Sounds like Cedric was at it again. Five flops in a row, from the sounds of it!"

"Like clockwork!"

"Sounds like you caught him redhanded, Baileywick." More laughter.

"There's 'Cedric the Sensational', alright."

"Well, he certainly has been making a sensational mess." It was Baileywick's voice this time, with the same smug, detached amusement in it as always, whenever he made one of his jokes about Cedric's abilities. Everyone laughed at that, of course. Of course they did.

The doors to the kitchens were wide open, making it exceedingly easy for Cedric to witness the scene. At least ten cooks and kitchen assistants, in between icing elaborately decorated cakes and loading them on wheelable tea trays, shot off comments here and there on what Baileywick had seen in Cedric's tower. On what it undoubtedly meant, another fantastic magical failure on his long, long list. And Baileywick stood there, neat and trim and so utterly perfect, holding a tray covered in some kind of pink iced cookie.

"Too bad he's not here right now, we could do with something that'd turn everything pink and shiny," one of the maids giggled.

"Nah, he'd probably just make it all float away."

"Or explode!" Everyone laughed again. They just wouldn't stop.

Cedric's stomach cramped, painfully, like someone was digging their hands into it. He'd long since ceased being hungry and doubted he would be for the rest of the day. At least not for a couple of hours. And while, at first, he'd felt angry; enraged, really, (literally 'seeing red' he added mentally, another joke,) the more it went on, the more it...it just hurt. He was exhausted, he'd done nothing all day but make one spectacular failure after another, and no one-

Well, this was just more proof that no one here thought much of him. Not even now that he had his family wand, that almost every spell went seamlessly, that his public mistakes no longer happened with the same degree of frequency, he was still Cedric the second rate sorceror to them. The joke. The 'never as good as his father.'

Baileywick suddenly happened to glance up and for a moment, the two of them made eye contact.

If he didn't feel so miserable, Baileywick's expression of almost guilty startlement, like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar, would have felt better than it did. But Cedric didn't want anything from him at this point, and he certainly didn't want anyone else's attention on him. Bad enough when they were mocking him behind his back, he didn't want them to start doing it to his face. Turning on his heel, he swept back down the hallway as quietly as he was able.

Despite wanting to stomp, to yell, to say something, anything, to defend himself.

* * *

Baileywick had always considered himself to be a good person as well as a competent employee. And while, of course, it wasn't the kindest behavior to make jokes about Cedric, the royal sorcerer invited them so easily by not only being so bumbling and incompetent, but by being so arrogant about his magical abilities at the same time. He constantly put on airs and pretended to be more than the second-rate son of a truly great wizard, and poking fun at him for it every now and then made no one feel too guilty.

He'd never stopped to consider that the attitude might be an act.

Not until he saw him standing there at the doorframe, all his defenses lowered. Cedric, the usually pompous, prideful, and unpleasant sorcerer had looked- vulnerable. His shoulders had been slumped, his whole body language looked drawn in on itself, and the expression on his face- not offended, not haughty, for just that moment all he'd looked was hurt.

And in a split second, Baileywick felt guilt settle over him as he realized how much of this Cedric might have heard. The sorcer turned sharply away, probably to his tower to shut himself in yet again, Baileywick thought, uncomfortably. Excusing himself, he set the tray of cookies he'd been holding down and started to walk after Cedric, certain that the kitchen staff were quite up to the task of finishing the preparations for Princess Amber's next tea party.

He found Cedric quickly and easily enough, climbing the stairs to the next floor.

"Cedric, wait," Baileywick said, following as swiftly as he could, "Please, just wait a moment."

Cedric made a sound halfway between a sob and a sharp chuckle. Not a pretty sound. He stopped in his tracks, his hand clutching the granite banister in a knuckle-tight grip. "Does the king require my presence?" he asked, and the sound of his voice made it clear enough why the sorcerer wasn't turning to face him.

"No," Baileywick admitted.

"Then, if you'll excuse me, I have...I have some more...messes to attend to," he said, his tone bitter.

"Just allow me to explain," Baileywick said, a little helplessly, aware that there wasn't really any good explanation for what had just happened.

"I don't need an explanation," Cedric bit out, spinning around in a somewhat dramatic swirl of purple fabric, "I can figure it all out. I'm not stupid, Baileywick, even if you all think I'm a fool. This is hardly new behavior to me, you understand? You... _you_ , all of you have been saying it, have been making jokes about me since I was a boy, why do you think I need it explained to me now?"

Baileywick couldn't help but cringe as the sorcerer started to rail at him, partially because of his words and partially because now that he and Cedric were only a foot or so apart, he could see the dark tired smudges under his eyes, the unsteady set of his mouth, the way he stuttered at every other sentence as he tried to rant.

It was easy, now that he was looking at it, to read the stiff set of his shoulders as someone holding himself ready to take a hit. And also, with his face contorted in emotion, Baileywick couldn't help but remember how _young_ the other man was. At least two decades younger than Baileywick himself. Despite them both being adults, it made him feel like a bit of a bully.

Cedric took a step backward as he finished speaking, his hand still clutching the railing. "Don't let me stop your fun. Go on, go back and laugh all you want! Tell all of them how much of a failure I am. Mock me like everyone else! It's easy for you, isn't it? You're perfect at your job. You've never done anything wrong. You have no idea how it feels to be- to be totally useless." Cedric trailed off, shook his head sharply, and then bolted up the remaining stairs, heading for his tower.

Baileywick didn't chase or follow him this time, he simply stood there, taking in everything that Cedric had said. In all the years he'd known him, Baileywick hadn't suspected to see this under the sorcerer's usual air of arrogance and conceit, hadn't expected the raw hurt that had been so visible on the other man's face. Guilty wasn't even the word to describe how he felt.

"Baileywick?"

He turned at the confused little voice he immediately recognized as Sofia's. She looked at him, one hand bunched in her gown, the other clutching a scrolled piece of parchment. Her expression was open surprise and concern- and suspicion.

"What happened?" she asked, "What did he mean?"

* * *

He took Sofia to a sitting room to talk to her and for a moment considered brushing the incident off with an oversimplification, or simply telling her that an adult argument was simply between two adults. But knowing the princess, she'd find out on her own one way or another, and would think even less of him later for his lie of omission. As hesitant as he was to tell someone who looked up to him so much about his lapse in behavior, it would be even worse to betray her trust with even a little white lie.

So, despite his shame, he told her about Cedric's five explosions, the balls and bright red pigment everywhere, and the jokes he and the kitchen staff had told each other about Cedric's continuing failures.

When it was all told, Sofia sat there on her little armchair, her head bowed slightly, her fingers playing with the paper scroll in her hands. "So, you all just ...laughed at him? Oh, Baileywick, how could you?" Despite the censure in her words, the princess didn't sound angry so much as upset. Cedric was a favorite of hers despite his unpleasant personality, and of course she was taking his hurt feelings as seriously as if he'd made fun of a school friend of hers.

"I'm sorry, Sofia," he said, trying to think of how to phrase things to make her understand. "Cedric hasn't made himself very popular with the adults here, despite how he behaves with you. He's usually quite insufferable to be around, and constantly tries to underline his status with the staff here."

"He only does that because," she paused, rubbing the edge of the paper. It was starting to wrinkle. "I mean...I think he only does that because he doesn't always believe in himself. Sometimes he says things to me about what his father thinks, or what everyone else thinks, and it probably makes him feel bad about himself sometimes. You must have really hurt his feelings."

"It seems that way," Baileywick said, sighing.

She looked up, a stubborn little frown on her face. "And even if he isn't always nice to everyone, that's still no reason to make fun of him like that all the time. Mr. Cedric tries very hard all the time to do magic, as best as he can, and that's supposed to be the most important thing. Just because someone makes mistakes doesn't mean it's okay to always- to just laugh at them. That won't help them be any better." Sofia's eyes looked tear bright. "That probably just makes him more nervous and makes it harder."

She was right, of course. None of them had been interested in helping Cedric become a better sorceror, they'd all only complained or made jokes about it. And now that he thought of it, had he always been so unpleasant to be around? Baileywick had vague memories of Cedric as a child, a small, thin, quite keen little boy who was a solemn little shadow at Godwin's side. He remembered him occasionally coming over to see his father at work as a teenager, sullen-faced and clumsy, but polite and shy.

"He's always been so nice about me making mistakes, " Sofia said quietly, unfolding the paper. It was another of her tests, a bright gold star stuck to the corner. "He made me his apprentice. Mr. Cedric is so good at teaching magic, you know. And whenever I made a mistake, and I made, well, _lots_ of mistakes. I turned a lime into a cabbage and a cucumber and a pickle and maybe fifty other things before I got it to turn into an emerald, and he never laughed at me or said anything mean. Mr. Cedric was always so patient."

It was hard to imagine Cedric being kind to anyone in that way, but Sofia's smile was wistful as she folded the scroll back up.

"I was going to show him this today," she said. "Maybe it would make him feel better?"

Baileywick didn't imagine it would at this point, and said so. "It might be best to just leave him alone for a little while, Princess Sofia."

"I don't know," she said, looking thoughtful, "I don't think I'd like to be left alone if I felt like that." She sighed. "Maybe if his mom was here, she could help."

"Unfortunately he's a little too old for his mom to help," Baileywick said, "But if you think the test will help, go ahead. I haven't been the best at knowing how he's feeling recently."

Sofia shrugged a little, getting off the armchair and finally looking up at Baileywick with that wide-eyed, disconcertingly earnest gaze. "I don't think he wants anyone to know how he's feeling. Isn't that a little scary?" With that, she started heading towards the tower where Cedric was no doubt shut up in, leaving Baileywick to his guilt and his thoughts.

* * *

" _Lavarsio_ ," Cedric hissed, pointing his wand at the room in general. The red color leached away in large splotches, leaving normally-colored and vivid red patches around his tower. A truly great wizard, like his father perhaps, might have done it all in one go. Pity he wasn't here. " _Lavarsio. Lavarsio. Lavarsio!"_ There was way too much emotion in that last incantation, and papers on his desk erupted, floating to the floor in a heap. Wormwood squawked from his perch, fluttering his feathers nervously.

Cedric wanted very badly to give into his urge to kick something, but seeing how the day had gone, it would end up with him getting a broken foot. "Stupid spells," he muttered angrily. "Why does nothing go right?" No, he knew he was exaggerating. A great deal of his spells went perfectly now, when he wasn't frustrated, or nervous, or too angry to think.

Looking sort of hopelessly around the workshop didn't make him feel better about the cleanup. Most of the tower was now the proper color, with only a few patches of red here and there, but there were still bouncy balls in heaps on the floor, and thick drifts of shimmer power all over the table. " _Disappearo_ ," he said dejectedly, with a flick of his wand. The shimmer powder vanished, leaving the tabletop clear. A few more practiced wand motions, and the bouncy balls were all deposited in a leftover cauldron to be thrown away later.

Cleaning mostly done for now, he practically collapsed in his chair. "I'm going to show them all someday," he said, but even to his ears it lacked certainty.

The door clattered open, and light, child's footsteps rang out on the stone. "Mr. Cedric?"

Unfortunately, he was in no kind of mood to deal with the princess's bubbly, exuberant personality right now, no matter how well-meaning and occasionally tolerable she was. "This is not a good time, Princess. I'm very busy with some incredibly complicated potions. My duties as the royal sorcerer have to come first, you know," he said, not glancing in her direction. The useless book was in front of him, open to the page of that shapeshifting potion. It had all seemed so easy at first, but of course he'd managed to get it wrong despite that.

"I know, Mr. Cedric," she said, still walking up to him. "I just wanted to show you that I got an A+ on the magic test."

He glanced over and she unfolded a rolled-up sheet of parchment, with a picture displaying each of the five spells she'd been taught to do on the side. Royalty weren't taught very difficult spells, but they did learn little, ornamental ones: turning objects into gems, making crystal spires appear, shooting fountains of wine from their wands, that sort of thing. This test had been, if he remembered helping her practice properly, making rainbows, bubble fountains, and turning a small pumpkin into a small carriage. The fairies were fond of that sort of thing.

Each of the spells had been marked off as done well with a little blue checkmark, and a gold star was pasted to the corner, along with the note: "Your enthusiasm for magic is a joy to have in class. You must have a very good tutor indeed."

"And I _do_ have a great tutor, Mr. Cedric," she said, smiling, "Not everyone has a royal sorcerer teaching them how to do their magic spells. James isn't doing as well, and it's probably because he hasn't even tried to ask for your help."

Usually Sofia's genuine flattery was gratifying to hear, but today it wasn't enough of a balm to change his mood. To one little girl, he was the greatest sorcerer in the world because he could make easily conjured party tricks and help her ace the tests at her grade school. Any graduate of Hexley Hall would laugh themselves silly to hear it: Cedric, son of Goodwin the Great, acknowledged as a good wizard only by an eight year old girl.

"They're easy enough spells, Princess," he said, smiling thinly. "To any real sorcerer, they're child's play. A first year student would have been able to help you just as easily."

"Well, they didn't," she said, pushing her hair back with one anxious hand, "You did. And to me, they're not easy spells. And everyone in my class, even me, knows that magic is hard. It's fun, but it's hard. I mean, if it was easy, almost everyone would be doing it, and they don't. Not even my dad, or any of the other kings or queens. And I guess...I guess what I'm trying to say is no one in the kingdom can do what you do, and definitely not anyone in the castle, and I think," she trailed off, her eyes on the floor now. "I think it's not very nice of people to say things about someone making mistakes when they can't even do it."

Ah, so that was what this was about. She must have overheard someone or other talking about his latest explosions and taken offense on his behalf.

"What did you hear?" Cedric asked, his tone flat, "How many flops and failures I've run through today? How I'm a second rate attempt at being a sorcerer?"

"I head you say you felt useless," Sofia said, and when she looked up, he could see a faint glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. "But you're not! Dad gets you to do all kinds of stuff now, you put on performances for the guests we have and you decorate the castle and everything."

"Yes, but what good is any of that when no one really thinks of me as a royal sorceror?" he muttered. "Except for you," he amended, foreseeing the inevitable response to that question. "Honestly, what good is any of it when it's clear that I'm still never going to be as good as my father, and he's all anyone sees when they look at me?"

Sofia looked uncomfortably at the painting of his parents hanging on the wall. "I don't know. I don't really think about him when I see you. I didn't really know anything about him. But I don't think you have to be your dad, Mr. Cedric. And anyway he's a lot older than you, right? He didn't do all of that right away."

Wormwood squawked from his perch, and Sofia cocked her head as if the bird had said something. "Oh," she said, "I guess he's hungry. Do you want me to feed him?"

Cedric sighed, opening the drawer on his table that held Wormwood's food. "If you'd like," he said, handing her the bag. Despite himself, he was starting to feel, if not happier or really 'better', at least less miserable. He supposed that counted as progress. And some deeply neglected responsible adult part of him was whispering that it was really better not to worry or trouble Sofia like this anyway, as the girl was only a child and leaning on her for emotional support would end up being taxing on her.

"I brought Wormwood a hardboiled egg, too," Sofia said, tentatively. "If that's okay? I read a book on what's healthy to feed ravens, and I was hoping I could give him a treat?" Behind her, the bird fixed Cedric with an extremely intense, beady look that suggested that it had better be all right, or Wormwood would stage a bird strike.

He couldn't help snorting. "Princess, a raven will eat anything that isn't bolted down. Feed him whatever you'd like." Watching Sofia try to peel the egg with Wormwood making eager little cawing sounds at her, quite like he was urging her to hurry up, was almost enough to get his mind off of the incident in the kitchens. Now, if he could only figure out that potion.

* * *

Baileywick showed up at the end of the day, prim and upright as ever, giving the door a perfunctory couple of knocks before opening it. Cedric felt an overwhelming urge to simply slam the door in his face, but no doubt that would get him some kind of lecture from the king. So instead, he folded his arms, fingers tightening around his wand, and waited.

"I want to apologize," Baileywick said, looking sincere enough about it.

Cedric, however, used to years of Baileywick's little comments, frowned in disbelief. "Really? Now?" he asked, "After so long, you're doing this only now? I find it hard to believe that this is just your conscience speaking. Did the princess have a talk to you about it? Well, you've apologized, congratulations, your obligation to her is at an end and you can go back to your usual business."

Baileywick looked, if possible with his bland range of facial expressions, even more contrite. " _No_ , Cedric," he said, "I honestly do want to apologize. I'm sorry. I didn't realize how all of it was upsetting you."

Cedric, who probably would have rather swallowed red hot needles than ever expose to anyone in this awful excuse for a castle that their comments actually bothered him, wanted to swallow his own tongue. He wanted to go back in time and kick his own self in the face for exposing so much of how he was actually feeling, and then just drag himself faster up the stairs so none of that confrontation would have happened.

Instead, he just ground his teeth for a second because he couldn't really deny that he was upset. That would be incredibly convincing, wouldn't it? Yelling angrily that he wasn't angry, with an angry expression and an angry tone of voice.

" _Being_ a royal sorcerer," he said, trying to go for his usual above it all air, "I try not to take notice of, of people who have nothing better to do with their time than make comments about me. After all, I'm...well, I said that I'm a royal sorcerer..." he trailed off, realizing what a weak defense that was, when his position itself was constantly called into question. A position he probably only got because of who his father was.

"Cedric?" Baileywick asked, sounding concerned.

"Just _go away_ , will you?" Cedric snapped, turning away. "You're all right, I'm a joke and a second rate hack, I should never have been made the royal anything. Don't bother apologizing for it. I'm sure you meant every word."

Baileywick sighed. "You were wrong about one thing, before."

"And what was that?" Cedric asked, not bothering to turn around.

"You said that I didn't understand what it felt like to have no use at my job. And until this year, you would have been correct. But after having that cursed pin on me, making it impossible to do my job correctly and without accidents, I did feel useless. I felt like I should resign immediately, since King Roland could not depend on me. And even with that, no one made comments or jokes about me, and I can't imagine how I would have felt if they did. I'm not offering you an empty apology, Cedric, I've honestly reflected on my actions and realize that I have helped make your job more stressful. I never stopped to think that you might be bothered by it, or by everyone else's comments, and for that, I am sorry."

Cedric had turned back during this speech, trying to see from the other man's face if he was being sincere. There was no trace of anything but repentance on his face, and it threw him off. "Oh, well, I-" he said.

"I'm sure I haven't complimented you enough on the times you've done magic well, either," Baileywick added, self consciously. "I don't think I ever did tell you: on Wassailia, when you cast your snow spell over the tree, it was one of the most beautiful works of magic I've ever seen, personally. I admit to taking your talents for granted occasionally."

Cedric felt himself flush, as he always did when someone complimented him for anything. "Thank you."

Baileywick shook his head. "I should have said it sooner. I'll try to keep it in mind from now on."

* * *

Sofia came to visit after lunch the next day, carrying some blackberries in a basket for Wormwood. The raven was kind of like Mr. Cedric, sometimes cranky, but she was sure he was good enough underneath that.

She was worried about what Mr. Cedric would be like when she opened the door, but to her surprise he was happily humming as he stirred some potion in his cauldron. A heavy sort of shimmering mist rose from it, and it smelled a little like the white flowers in the courtyard that only bloomed at night.

"Hi, Mr. Cedric," she greeted, "I came by to give Wormwood another treat." She lifted the small wicker basket, causing Wormwood to flap excitedly from his perch.

"Yes, yes," Cedric waved his hand dismissively, not taking his eyes off the potion he was working on, "Go on, then. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

Sofia brought the basket to an empty table and placed it there, knowing that Wormwood preferred to feed himself rather than be given the berries by hand. As the bird hastily thanked her before digging in, Sofia looked again at Mr. Cedric. He added a pinch of some kind of powder into the cauldron, measuring with a tiny scoop, and made an excited sound as the whole thing turned a gleaming red-gold.

"It's finished," he said excitedly. "I was merely adding the wrong species of granulated mermicorn tears. Of course it had to be the saltwater and not freshwater variety. Ha!"

"I knew you could do it, Mr. Cedric," Sofia said, cheerfully.

Cedric raised his head and looked at her, a soft smile on his face. "Yes, Princess Sofia," he said, "I know you did."


End file.
